


Interpretation

by Ellenar_Ride



Series: Mending Links [13]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Four Swords Adventures
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mending Links 'Verse, Vio has sensory processing issues, Vio is Introspective, lots of thinking and definitions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24140302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellenar_Ride/pseuds/Ellenar_Ride
Summary: Vio tries to explain, to tell his brothers what it’s like to be inside his head, what heexperiencesevery moment of every day, but they just don’t get it. And that’s okay—they’re not him, except theyliterally areand they still don’tget itand some days it doesn’t really matter but some days it’s all he can think about and it drives himinsane.(Prompt: it is the small things that are important)
Series: Mending Links [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545610
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	Interpretation

Vio defines the reality he experiences with words, with language. His brothers filter the world through different lenses: Blue constructs the world with actions, a chain of cause-and-effect; Red maps out the world with a web of relationships, good and bad and neutral; Green navigates the world in a maze-wall set of promises, seeking the path that satisfies them all. For Vio, the lens has always been dictionaries and definitions. He knows a million and one obscure, precise words for a million and one obscure, precise situations, and he is _very_ practiced in applying them.

_Pâro. /ˈpaˌɹo/. Noun. “The feeling that no matter what you do it’s always somehow wrong.”_

Despite his supposed role as the “smart one” of the Quartet, Vio is bad at seeing the Big Picture. He tries, but he always gets caught up the moment instead. It’s not that he doesn’t want to think ahead, or that he doesn’t see the point of a plan—the logic of such preparation appeals to his need for structure, soothes something deep in his soul that stirs with fright if the answer to “What’s next?” is “I don’t know.”

_Ambedo. /æmˈbiˌdo/. Noun. “A kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details.”_

The problem is, there’s always something else that pulls at Vio’s mind, redirecting his focus. Sometimes it’s the scent of a newly blossomed wildflower, winding through the air until it reaches his nose so faintly, and he can’t _not_ go over and sniff until the scent is clear and strong. Sometimes it’s the feel of the air before a storm, heavy and damp as it presses against his skin, pours into his lungs with every breath and chills him from the inside out, and he doesn’t have the will to turn and go inside even when rain pours from the sky, soaking him to the bone, and one of his brothers has to come drag him in against his wishes and lecture him about looking out for his personal well-being as he drips on the entryway flooring.

Sometimes it’s the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, howling in the night, and he knows if he goes outside it will be racing, strong enough to push him to the ground, to force him to stumble along in whatever direction it wishes as he’s swept up into the whole of it, an ant before a mountain, small and insignificant and the weight of the world cannot rest on his shoulders, _does not_ rest on his shoulders because the wind takes up the mantle, takes up all of his burdens. Sometimes it’s the sight of a bird or beast unusual for the area, and all he can do is stand and watch, witnessing its passing, soaking in every detail of its appearance and behavior and carving them into his mind forever. Sometimes it’s the taste of iron and salt coating his tongue when he’s deep in thought and not paying attention and chews through the outer layers of skin on the inside of his cheeks, and he doesn’t notice until Blue smacks his shoulder and Green points out the blood dripping down his chin and Red digs through the medkit for gauze rolls, and Vio has to go around looking like a chipmunk for a bit to staunch the bleeding and all he can taste is blood and cloth and his own saliva.

_Exulanis. /'ɛksəˌlanɪs/. Noun. “The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.”_

Vio tries to explain, to tell his brothers what it’s like to be inside his head, what he _experiences_ every moment of every day, but they just don’t get it. And that’s okay—they’re not him, except they _literally are_ and they still don’t _get it_ and some days it doesn’t really matter but some days it’s all he can think about and it drives him _insane._ It doesn’t help that the others all seem to understand each other—it’s like they all speak the same language, and Vio might as well be speaking in tongues for all the information they get from his words. And he loves them, he _does,_ but it never stops being frustrating. Never stops hurting.

_Onism. /’anˌɪzm̩/. Noun. “The frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time.”_

Sometimes it drives Vio mad that he cannot experience everything at once. If only he could take in all of the available input at the same time, process it in the same step, instead of picking out one detail to observe and integrate before returning for another, maybe he could function like his brothers. Maybe he could see beyond the moment, beyond the narrow frame of reference, beyond the sensation that captivates his mind in the present state, and into the future and the what-could-be.

Maybe if he could _see_ beyond the moment, he could be _helpful_ beyond the moment. Maybe he would be able to help his brothers plot and plan and scheme, instead of just having to be told and reminded and worked around. Maybe he could account for things instead of having to be accounted for. Maybe he could draw connections and make plans and see the relative nature of reality if he could focus on more than just what’s right in front of him screaming for his attention. Maybe he could really be the “smart one” instead of just pretending to be. Maybe.

_Liberosis. /’lɪbɝˌosɪs/. Noun. “The desire to care less about things.”_

More than anything, Vio wishes he didn’t care about _wishing._ It bothers him more and more as time passes, especially since arriving at the Homestead and finding out that, of all the Links in existence, they all speak his brothers’ language. Not one of them speaks his. Oh, they try—some more than others, Sav more than most—but they all need a translation. None of them speak his native tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> And part 2 of the Quartet mini-series is done, with Vio claiming a special place in my heart as all Links do. I project aspects of myself into literally all of these Links, but Vio especially so, apparently. Like, I'm a lot more forward-planning stress-over-the-future lay-things-out-in-meticulous-detail, but the hyperfixation is all me. :|
> 
> EDIT: Oops, completely forgot to mention, all of the definitions in this chapter come from _The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows_ , link to come when I'm not half-conscious and on mobile.


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